


Snap/Struggle/Shift

by AirgiodSLV



Series: Sins [3]
Category: The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-08-31
Updated: 2004-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-20 08:45:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16133759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AirgiodSLV/pseuds/AirgiodSLV
Summary: Billy’s eyes drop pointedly to Dom’s wrists, where the green-yellow smears of faded bruises are giving way to fresh blossoms of blue and purple, rings of dark violet-red. “Is that where trust gets you, then?”





	Snap/Struggle/Shift

**Author's Note:**

> For the [](https://furorscribendi.livejournal.com/profile)[furorscribendi](https://furorscribendi.livejournal.com/) ‘Gluttony’ challenge. Follows [Avaritia](http://www.livejournal.com/users/airgiodslv/71538.html) and [Give-and-take](http://www.livejournal.com/users/airgiodslv/75664.html). Thanks to Brenna for the critique and beta.
> 
> Content/Warnings: A smattering of s/D.

“Wait, no, give that back,” Billy orders, attempting to snatch the piece of fish Dom has deftly stolen from his plate, their chopsticks dueling in mid-air. “You can’t just take a man’s fish, Dom, it’s not right.”

“Friends share, Bill, are you saying you won’t share with me? I’m hurt, I am.” Dom mock-pouts, forehead wrinkling, fish held back just out of Billy’s chopstick-enhanced reach. “Friends give each other everything. Even fish. _Especially_ fish,” he insists, and takes a stab at getting the fish to the wasabi without Bill intercepting it.

“Of course I’ll share with you, Dommie,” Billy replies, exasperation giving way to friendly laughter. “And that’s what I’m hearing. Everything might be a bit extreme, don’t you think?”

“What do you mean?” Dom raises an eyebrow and dips the fish, twirling it up out of the pot and dropping it neatly onto his outstretched tongue. The wasabi burns, just enough to make his nerves tingle.

“I mean you and Orlando,” Billy says, eyes leveled on Dom’s, and Dom blinks in surprise. He hadn’t thought Billy would go for direct like that, but apparently Billy is braver than he has led people to believe. Asking about whether your mates are shagging must be equivalent to bungee jumping on some sort of courage-scale.

“What about it?” Dom replies, swallowing his mouthful of fish hastily before Billy gets too disgusted. “It’s not a big thing, Bills, trust me. Friends trust, too, you know.”

Billy’s eyes drop pointedly to Dom’s wrists, where the green-yellow smears of faded bruises are giving way to fresh blossoms of blue and purple, rings of dark violet-red. “Is that where trust gets you, then?”

Dom’s face heats, but he doesn’t back down. “Sometimes.”

Billy starts to speak and then shakes his head, chopsticks raised in surrender. “Just be careful.”

“Bill,” Dom protests in a perfect feign of affronted dignity. “I’m always careful. It’s what I am. Practically my middle name.”

Bill steals a slice of Dom’s sushi and wisely chooses not to comment.

 

* * *

“Don’t, use the cuffs, you can’t, _ah_ ,” Dom yelps as Orlando’s fingers twine hard around his wrists, crushing the veins against unrelenting bone. He can almost feel the bruise forming, jerks his hips up hard in response so that Orlando has to straddle him, unbuttoned shirt slipping from one shoulder to pool at his elbow.

“I can do whatever I want,” Orlando shoots back, his voice low and hard the way Dom likes it, and he squirms a little in spite of his reservations. Orlando shines like the sun at moments like this, energy flowing out of him like a solar flare for Dom to bask in.

“Fuck,” Dom hisses when Orlando pinches the soft flesh on the inside of his thigh, sharp and unexpected. Orlando grins and kisses him, messy and with teeth, and Dom is careful not to get loose even as he tugs against Orlando’s hold.

There’s an unexpected flash of Elijah as Dom blinks his eyes, and he wonders how much wiry strength there is in that slender frame. He’s honestly not sure that Elijah would even need to use it. Elijah might just say the word and Dom wouldn’t move. It would be a different kind of struggle.

“Fucking take it,” Orlando moans, already forcing Dom’s legs apart and pushing forward, no lube, nothing. Dom doesn’t quite twist away in time, but he relaxes enough that the first stretch doesn’t burn too much, and after the tip is in Orlando reaches down with his free arm to slick himself up, whimpering.

Orlando’s torso is bruised the same way Dom’s is, marked with battle scars of his own. There have been more of them lately, illustrating Elijah’s displeasure with every fine crimson line. It makes Dom shudder to think of it, to imagine the kiss of the lash, to think of Elijah swimming in his vision, blurry and implacable. Dom wants that, the intensity and focus, wants Orlando’s marks to transfer onto Dom’s body as he pushes inside.

Dom sighs and tilts his hips, encouraging the violation, and Orlando loses control within the first few thrusts, short and staccato to match the throb of Dom’s pulse in his groin. Orlando burns hotter than ever, full of passionate fire, and Dom just smiles with his eyes falling closed and soaks it up.

 

* * *

“Man, I wish I could do that,” Elijah says enviously behind him, and Dom nods without looking away from the practice field, enjoying the flex of muscles as Orlando nocks the arrow and pulls the bowstring taut in preparation for the release.

Elijah falls silent as Orlando shoots, and Dom watches the arrow fly to hit the border of red and blue, just outside of the coveted ring of gold. _Close, but not quite,_ he thinks. Typical Orlando.

“Did you get my message?” Elijah asks casually, and Dom turns to glance at him, wondering which message Elijah means. The one on his machine last night, asking him if he was free tomorrow night and wanted to go out, or the one etched onto Orlando’s skin when he’d come to Dom’s bed an hour later, a tracery of red welts that proclaimed ownership and made Dom’s skin flush hot when Orlando had taken him.

“Yeah,” he answers, because it’s the same response either way.

“How about dinner?” Elijah suggests, wincing slightly against the glare of the sun. He shifts his weight, restless, and Dom watches him with interest, curious as to where this is leading. “I found this great Thai place last week, I thought we could try it.”

“I’ve been,” Dom says, shrugging, but he takes it into consideration, studying the lazy dip of Elijah’s lashes as he screens his eyes from the light. Elijah doesn’t burn the way Orlando does, bright and obvious, but Dom knows there’s something there. Elijah is just better at hiding it.

“You haven’t been with me,” Elijah argues, innocent smile and too-large eyes, seeing right through Dom’s transparency to the greed within. _You know you want to,_ those eyes say. _You want more._

“All right,” Dom hears himself saying, and shrugs agreeably. “See you there in a few hours, after dialect?”

“I’ll pick you up,” Elijah answers, and glances back one more time at the field. “He’s good,” Elijah says admiringly, and Dom turns to see another of Orlando’s arrows hit the target with a dull thud. There’s another message beneath the spoken words, though, and Dom hears that one as clearly as if Elijah had whispered it into his ear.

_But I’m better._


End file.
